Follow the Lady
by avatarstarkid
Summary: "The wheel is come full circle." -Shakespeare. Inspired by a fandom headcanon about Rumple's time in New York after being banished from Storybrooke.


Summary: "The wheel is come full circle." –Shakespeare Inspired by a fandom headcanon.

A/N: I own nothing, all rights to ABC.

I sit at my usual window booth in the diner, sipping my coffee as I look out at the streets of New York. Tourists, locals, families, businessmen, all milling about their daily lives.

Then I see him.

He's sitting alone on a bench by one of the apartment complexes across the street, a card table in front of him. There's often a small crowd around him as he plays a card game.

For weeks I've seen him like this. He limps out of the apartment every morning, cane in hand and table under his arm, to the same bench where he sets up shop for the day and waits.

To a passerby, he looks like any of the city's other countless homeless, rarely given a second thought. I can't help thinking, however, that there might be more to him than that. The suit he wears, for one thing. While it's now dirty and covered with dust and snow, still gives the impression that he may once have been wealthy. Maybe a businessman or something.

A few days ago, I found myself sitting on the next bench while I waited for a cab. I offered him a smile, tried to strike up a friendly conversation. He never looked up and barely said a word when there was no crowd. When a man sitting next to me stood and called out to someone up the street, "Hey, Neil!" before running up to meet him (I assumed), the older man stared down at his table as his hands shook, lips trembling slightly. I could barely hear him as he whispered one word.

"_Bae_..."

While, physically, he looks like he's in his forties, maybe fifties, the look in his eyes gave me the sense that he was somehow much older; that he had seen a lot over those years, maybe even too much...

It also made me wonder when he had last gotten a good night's sleep.

I watch him now through the diner window, as the latest crowd around him begins to disperse, having lost his little game. Over time, I've caught on to how he plays this game. It's all sleight of hand. Three Card Monte, also known as Follow the Lady. He's good at it, successful each time I've seen him there, and yet he somehow looks more dejected than the folks who lose their money. I notice how he seems to glare at the Queen of Hearts card after taking it from its hiding place in his sleeve, muttering something.

He starts collecting the cards when a few teenagers come by. One of them knocks the table over, sending the rest of the cards flying. Another grabs the little money the man has made today, quickly pocketing it. I don't hear what they say from where I sit, but it's clear they're teasing him. I pay for my order and quickly make my way out.

The third boy grabs the man's cane from where it rests on the side of the bench; the man reaches for it frantically as the boy laughs, making sure to keep it out of his reach. I cross the street as one of the boys runs off. The man begs for at least his cane back as they turn and make to run off, when they see me.

"Shit," I hear one of them mutter under his breath.

"Give it back," I order the young thieves.

The one who stole the cane's shoulders sag a bit as he offers it to me, muttering something. Luckily they know not to mess with an ex-ex-cop.

I take the cane before turning to his friend. "And the money."

He shows me his empty pockets before pointing to where their friend had run off. "He took it, not me," he says.

_Damn_.

I tell the boys to leave and they run off to join their buddy.

I offer the man his cane back. "I'm sorry about that," I say sincerely.

He takes it quickly, hands shaking slightly as he grips the handle tightly. "Thank you," he murmurs anxiously.

I collect the fallen cards for him as he rights the table. Giving him the cards, to which he nods his thanks, I invite him to join me at the diner. He nervously turns down the offer, quickly gathering his things. I shrug it off with a smile; maybe another time. He nods, saying goodbye without looking up before making his way to the apartment as quickly as his bad leg will allow, clearly embarrassed by the day's events.

I can just barely hear him whisper, "Not again," to himself before I turn around myself and head home.


End file.
